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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29974107">Cream Tea</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neyiea/pseuds/Neyiea'>Neyiea</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Tea Party [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Gotham (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Dress Up, Dubcon Kissing, Forced Crossdressing, M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 16:31:58</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,301</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29974107</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neyiea/pseuds/Neyiea</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruce rushes into a situation and finds himself in over his head.</p><p>Jervis is, unfortunately for Bruce, somewhat charmed.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jervis Tetch/Bruce Wayne</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Tea Party [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2215944</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>56</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Cream Tea</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherryvaleska/gifts">cherryvaleska</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Mostly I just can't believe I wrote twelve pages of this and didn't even make it to an 'M' rating. Ah well, next time.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It’s taking most of Bruce’s concentration to keep from visibly trembling. </p><p>When he’d heard about Jim’s capture at the hands of someone who definitely wanted him dead he’d acted immediately, reckless despite Alfred’s warnings. He’d learned a lot during his capture—paradoxically becoming physically stronger and mentally weaker as the Shaman took control of him, warping him into a perfect pawn, a perfect Talon—and he wanted more than anything to put some of his new skills to work doing good instead of evil. His loss of autonomy was something he detested thinking about, was something he wished he could forget, was something he tried to lock out of his mind for his own wellbeing.</p><p>But now, looking into dark eyes as a watch is slipped out of a pocket, it all comes rushing back to him.</p><p>Stupid, reckless, foolish, he berates himself, looking at the man in front of him instead of Jim, who is still seated at the head of the table as if in a daze. Think, think, think.</p><p>He can’t let anyone take control of him again.</p><p>“I apologize for barging in,” he says, voice soft with trepidation. His heart is racing behind his ribs, but the man with the watch pauses, as if startled by his manners. “It’s only just that I heard you were having a tea party—” He’d tracked them down, he’d slipped past the hired muscle, he’d run in without thinking, he didn’t know how long it would take Alfred or Harvey or anyone else to find them. “—and I was wondering what it might take to get an invitation.”</p><p>Jervis Tetch—mad as a hatter, or so Bruce had overheard not long ago when Jim spoke to Alfred about the man’s escape after his blood had been used as a cure for the Tetch Virus which Bruce had, knowingly or not, had a hand in spreading through Gotham even if by mere association—quirks an eyebrow, the vicious look on his face which had been strikingly apparent when he first whirled around to see who had barged in beginning to soften into something less angry.</p><p>But somehow not any less terrifying. </p><p>“I’m sorry to say, dear boy, that this all seems a rather obvious ploy,” he says, and his dark eyes slowly scan Bruce from the top of his head to the toes of his shoes before dragging back up again. “Your association with Jim Gordon is known to me.” </p><p>“So I—” His heart is thrumming and his knees are weak; why had he thought this would be a good idea? “—suppose that’s a no on the invitation to tea?”</p><p>Something behind those eyes flickers. Jervis’s expression doesn’t change, but Bruce can feel himself break out into a cold sweat at the amount of focus being directed at him. Perhaps he’s made it even worse for himself by rhyming along.</p><p>“Although you are no doubt charming in your own way, you are not like the company that I usually seek for parties such as these.”</p><p>It is not an invitation, but Jervis hasn’t hypnotized him yet, so maybe Bruce isn’t royally fucked. </p><p>What kind of company did Jervis usually have for his tea parties? Bruce’s mind races in an attempt to find answers, but he’d never paid much attention to news articles about the man, always worrying about things that seemed much more important. He regrets it, now that he’s stumbling into this situation absolutely blind. </p><p>He licks his lips and swallows dryly. </p><p>“Perhaps the difference in companionship would be a refreshing change, if you so please.”</p><p>A little twitch of a smile plays at the edges of his mouth. Bruce feels both better and worse.</p><p>“Most of my guests don’t mind their manners like you do.” His expression darkens, then, and Bruce feels his breath catch. “Screaming and crying and begging and bleeding all over the place,” he mutters harshly, as if none of that is directly his own fault. “Nothing like my dear Alice, not at all,” he sighs, as if lovelorn. “That’s why I make them disappear without a trace.”</p><p>Alice, Bruce latches onto the name, searching for a spark of a memory, for something that he can use. </p><p>“It sounds as if you really care for Alice,” Bruce says, trying to work his expression into something consoling. Was she a girlfriend who managed to flee a madman? An ex-wife? A nurse in Arkham who Jervis had uncomfortably latched onto? “You must miss her terribly,” he forces out, hoping that the lack of a rhyme isn’t going to be what compels Jervis to lure Bruce under his thrall. </p><p>Jervis—a Mad Hatter looking for his Alice, Bruce would laugh if he weren’t terrified—seems to dull for a moment, his focus shifting from Jim and Bruce and the table laid out behind him, fixating on something far away. </p><p>“I do,” he murmurs. </p><p>Bruce takes in a steadying breath and steps out on a limb.</p><p>“I’m sure that she misses you, too.”</p><p>Jervis’s eyes snap back onto him with a speed that makes Bruce want to stumble backwards.</p><p>“She does,” he says with a vehemence that Bruce distantly takes to mean that he’s been told the opposite many, many times. “Of course she does. I loved her. She loved me.”</p><p>Past tense. Did he no longer love her? That didn’t seem likely. </p><p>“It hurts to lose the people you love,” Bruce tells him, voice shaking and soft. He feels like a child. He sounds like a child. Distantly he supposes that, in actual fact, he is still a child despite being halfway through his teenaged years. He’s powerless to do anything, too afraid of the repercussions. He feels thirteen all over again, held in a mad teenager’s arms with a knife against his throat, except it’s worse because Jervis isn’t even physically threatening him. “I understand, and I’m sorry that you lost her.”</p><p>Jervis is silent for a long moment. Bruce—despite how afraid he is, how much he hates Jervis for kidnapping Jim and meaning to kill someone who Bruce thinks of as a surrogate-father, and for evidently killing everyone who gets an invitation to one of his tea parties—can’t help but wonder if no one else ever bothered to express empathy over the apparent loss of Alice. That’s something that he can use, isn’t it?</p><p>Bruce takes a brave step forward, mind racing with consoling words which hadn’t made him feel like losing his temper, back when his parents were newly dead, but everyone was talking about how sorry they felt for him instead of them.</p><p>Later he will think that that was one of many mistakes.</p><p>“I’m sorry that she lost you,” he offers into the air between them. His thinks of his parents, of the fresh, raw pain of their murders, he thinks about it hard enough that tears begin to sting at his eyes. “I’m sorry that things turn out this way.”</p><p>Jervis’s gaze traces over him again, as if judging his sincerity. If he knows of Bruce’s affiliation with Jim then he must know who Bruce is, must know that Bruce has experienced loss, too, must know on some level that Bruce understands the pain of being the one left behind. </p><p>“You’re not dressed for tea,” he says under his breath, then blinks, as if surprised by himself. “Not that my guests ever are, at first.”</p><p>“Do you… Want me to go home and change?” Could it really be that easy?</p><p>Jervis smiles wide enough to show off his teeth, his melancholy gone as if it were never there in the first place. It’s jarring, for his emotions to switch so quickly from one extreme to another. He’s volatile. Dangerous. Bruce feels young and small and vulnerable before him. He doesn’t fully understand how Jervis takes control of people, doesn’t know how long it takes, doesn’t know how he could possibly avoid it if Jim, who did know those particulars, wasn’t successfully able to. </p><p>“That’s not necessary, dear boy, I have everything you could possibly need to get ready for tea.” The hand not holding the pocket watch reaches out toward him, seemingly benevolent. Bruce sees it as a representation of his only two choices. Do as Jervis says willingly, or do it hypnotized. “Will you come, or will you try to flee?”</p><p>Try, because there was no escape.</p><p>Bruce takes another step forward and reaches out to allow Jervis to take hold of him.  </p><p>Jervis’s gloved hand is warm and big, but his grip is strangely light. Somehow that makes Bruce feel more on edge than if he’d been forceful. </p><p>“Thank you for the invitation,” Bruce murmurs, fighting his trembling as he gently grips back, looking up at Jervis through his lashes, feeling too timid to glare up at him directly as he might have if what Jervis was capable of wasn’t so frightening on such a personal level.</p><p>Jervis’s smile widens and his eyes gleam in a way that Bruce anxiously thinks is predatory. </p><p>He wonders who Alice was. He hopes that she’s found peace, now that she’s gone. </p><p>“It’s no trouble at all for someone as well-mannered as you, Bruce Wayne,” he speaks Bruce’s name for the first time and a shiver abruptly races down Bruce’s back, even though he’d realized that Jervis must have known exactly who he was. “Had my other guests possessed a shred of your decorum they might not have ended up slain.” </p><p>Courtesy and etiquette, lessons drilled into him by his late mother and Alfred, are apparently the only thing keeping him from having his free will taken away. He’ll be on his best behaviour. Everything depends on it. </p><p>Bruce glimpses up at Jervis, his terror is a decent enough substitution for demureness. </p><p>“Their loss is my gain.”  </p><p>Jervis giggles delightedly, standing up straighter and clicking the heels of his shoes together. He tugs Bruce closer and Bruce stumbles toward him, cheeks abruptly burning at being pulled so easily. Again, he remembers being thirteen years old and being physically lifted into Jerome Valeska’s arms and dragged away from safety. Ensnared by a madman all over again, though this time he is as good as alone, with Jim incapable of helping him.</p><p>“I think you and I are going to get along quite nicely,” Jervis tells him, tone bright. Jervis lets go of his hand, then, but only so that he can lock their arms together in a way that makes Bruce’s insides twist because it seems strangely… Not intimate, but archaic. Like some sort of old-fashioned way for a gentleman to walk with a lady. Which Bruce is not. Which Jervis knows. </p><p>Bruce timidly curls his hand around Jervis’s arm, eyes dipping down to his shoes because he doesn’t want to see if the predatory gleam has returned to Jervis’s eyes.</p><p>Beside him Jervis chuckles under his breath, seemingly giddy for a reason that Bruce doesn’t dare try and pick apart at the moment. He finally puts away his pocket watch, and his now-free hand moves to lay overtop of Bruce’s own gently. It’s so tender that it makes Bruce’s hair stand on end. He thinks he’d rather be gripped and pulled tightly enough to hurt. He was, unfortunately, more accustomed to that sort of thing.  </p><p>“Come, we can’t let the tea get cold.” </p><p>Bruce walks alongside him, refusing to throw a look back at Jim even though he feels the strong urge to. He can’t help Jim unless he helps himself first, and helping himself means going along with whatever Jervis wants. </p><p>Which is, he very quickly finds out, apparently sticking to the Alice in Wonderland theme and actually dressing up in a blue and white, frilled dress. There are multiple gowns hanging around the room he’d been ushered into, he realizes with a racing heart. Multiple dresses to fit multiple girls, worn once and then probably discarded due to blood stains too expansive to attempt washing out. Jervis lets go of his arm to hem and haw as he looks them over, as if trying to guess which one will be closest to Bruce’s size. When he finally brings a dress to him, smiling so eerily wide that Bruce feels frozen in place, Bruce accepts it numbly. Putting it on will not be the most horrifying thing that he’s done to stay alive, but still…</p><p>“Would you turn around?” His voice cracks, and he feels his face grow hot. “Please?”</p><p>“I am nothing if not a gentleman,” Jervis responds somewhat cryptically, although he does make a show of turning his back. “Quickly, now, we mustn’t keep Jim waiting.”</p><p>Bruce kicks off his shoes and, with shaking hands, strips himself of his own clothes before pulling the dress over his head. He wishes it were just that simple, but there’s a zipper at the back that he can’t seem to reach, and he doesn’t want Jervis to think that he’s purposefully wasting time and end up stoking the man’s temper.</p><p>“Could you help me, please, Mister Tetch?” His hands fall away and clench nervously into the blue fabric of the skirt. “I can’t do up the back by myself.”</p><p>He doesn’t dare turn to look, but he hears soft footsteps as Jervis crosses the scant space between them. He jolts at the feeling of a hand laying upon his hip, and behind him Jervis makes an amused sound.</p><p>“Now now, no need to be shy. You don’t have anything that I haven’t seen before,” Jervis practically croons at him. Bruce feels sick, wondering what else he might do to the poor girls that he kidnaps in an attempt to replace his Alice. Bruce wonders what would be happening to him right now if he were a girl and his stomach flips. “And you, dear boy, may call me Jervis.” Bruce can feel the tip of a gloved finger trailing up his spine and he fights the urge to whirl around and slap it away. “I feel that we can be on such friendly terms with each other, don’t you? After all.” Jervis looms behind him, close enough that Bruce can feel the heat of his chest against his bare back, even if they’re not close enough to touch. He’s half surprised that he doesn’t feel Jervis breathing down his neck. “It’s not often that I have a willing attendant to one of my tea parties. You might even be the first.”</p><p>Bruce doesn’t know what to say in response to that and instead chokes on dreadful silence, all the blood draining from his face. Jervis takes a small step back and slowly does up the zipper, lingering despite how he had been the one to urge Bruce to get dressed quickly. It feels intimate, feels wrong, feels like an adult man is paying far too much attention to him. If Jervis starts referring to him as ‘Alice’ now that he’s in a dress Bruce doesn’t know what he’ll do, other than continue to wish he’d never come in here so utterly unprepared in the first place.</p><p>Finally the dress is done up, and Jervis’s knuckles graze against the closed teeth of the zipper as his hand falls away. </p><p>“There now, turn around and let me see you, we mustn’t dawdle for much longer.”</p><p>Bruce does so, movements almost mechanical in nature, as if he is merely a ballerina spinning inside of a music box. </p><p>Jervis looks him up and down again. Bruce takes some comfort in the fact that he doesn’t appear to be looking at him any differently from the first time he scanned him over.</p><p>“You are not like my other guests, not at all,” Jervis murmurs, as if he is not entirely sure whether or not that’s a good or a bad thing to be. Bruce is glad to be different. Glad that he can’t be easily mistaken for any of the Alices that must have come before him. Jervis abruptly shifts forward, then, hands coming up towards Bruce’s face. Bruce lurches back in sudden alarm, nearly tripping over his own feet, but Jervis follows and catches him. He does not hit him or strangle him, as Bruce feared that he would, but firmly pinches at his cheeks several times in quick succession, as if to forcefully coax the red flush back into them. “Perhaps that is a point in your favour, little doll.”</p><p>“I’m not a doll,” Bruce protests before he can think better of it. Jervis sends him an overly-indulgent look, as if he’s merely allowing Bruce to speak lies but knows better. Bruce bites his tongue to keep from saying anything that might ruin Jervis’s good mood, especially with Jervis’s hands still against his face, far too close to his throat for Bruce’s liking. His eyes dip down, a near-perfect replication of modesty. “Thank you for helping me get dressed, Jervis.”</p><p>Jervis links their arms together again, and Bruce shivers for more reasons than the cool Gotham air suddenly winding around his bared arms and legs. </p><p>“You are very welcome, Bruce,” he says cheerily, tugging Bruce forward before he can even think to remind Jervis that he hasn’t put his shoes back on. Bruce doesn’t like Jervis saying his name, but at least it’s better than ‘dear boy’ and ‘little doll’, and it’s certainly better than being called ‘Alice’. “Come, come, quickly now, tea time waits for no one.”</p><p>“Surely it waits for you?” </p><p>“Not when the leaves were already set to brew,” Jervis echoes back, rhyming with Bruce just as Bruce had rhymed with him. “Also, not when you interrupted before I got the chance to make Jim Gordon hold his breath until he turned blue.” He cackles delightedly, picking up the pace even more, Bruce stumbling into a jog in order to keep up with him. He finally slows when they enter the room where the tea service is laid out. Jim still sits at one end of the table, appearing as though he hadn’t moved at all. </p><p>Bruce—uncomfortable and anxious and entirely too aware of the feeling of Jervis pressed against his side with their arms locked together in such a parody of sweetness—turns and lays his free hand upon the man’s bicep. </p><p>“Could you not wait to kill him until after tea?”</p><p>“That depends.” Jervis grins, but the expression seems warped on his face, as if it doesn’t belong. Asking for Jim’s death to be put on hold has stirred up something dark inside of him, and Bruce has to tread carefully. “What will you give me?”</p><p>“What—” Bruce tampers down his panic. He knows this song and dance. He just has a new partner, this time around. “—do you want? You know who I am, and what I can give you. Surely, if you want something, you know you only need to ask.”</p><p>“And what is it that you want most in the world?” Jervis fires back at him, catching Bruce’s eyes and staring into them. “What would you ask for, if you could ask for anything?” A hand comes to clasp over Bruce’s, holding him tight. There’s something about his twisting expression which seems to demand understanding, and Bruce will try his very best to give it to him. “What would you wish for above all else? Tell me, Bruce.”</p><p>“I—” Bruce stares into those dark eyes. They look almost black. His heart races, but then again, it hasn’t actually stopped racing since he arrived here. “I would wish for my parents,” he eventually admits and, going out on another limb, he cautiously adds, “The way that you would wish for Alice.”</p><p>The one thing that could not be given.</p><p>“Exactly.” Jervis pulls away from Bruce’s side, storming towards Jim like a wave of devastation. Bruce is struck to stillness for a moment at the amount of anger rolling off of him. “He’s the one who ruined everything, did you know that? Perhaps you would not be so fond of Jim Gordon if you realized the true multitude of his sins!” He raises a hand as if he means to slap Jim across the face and finally Bruce rushes forward, too distressed at the thought of Jim being hurt right in front of him without doing anything about it to work on anything other than his instincts. He grabs onto the sleeve of Jervis’s coat and tugs him around.</p><p>How did one soothe the uncontrollable temper of a raging madman? Perhaps not even Alice knew how. Perhaps Bruce is one step closer to being back with his parents, after all. </p><p>“Jervis,” he keeps his voice soft, even softer than fear had made it. He is young and brittle and small, and hopefully that makes Jervis see him as less of an outright threat and not just as an easy target. “I’m so sorry that you lost her. You must have loved her very much.” He grabs onto the lapels of Jervis’s jacket, feeling his legs buckle beneath him like they’re about to fold. “But are you really going to hurt the man who took her away from you when he isn’t even aware that you’re the one hurting him, and why?” His fingers clench tighter. He stares straight into Jervis’s eyes even though it terrifies him to do it. “That isn’t justice, is it? He has to know.” Bruce swallows heavily, thinking quite suddenly of Matches Malone and The Court of Owls. Jervis’s stormy features are smoothing out, and Bruce wishes he felt good about it. “He has to know why it’s happening. He has to know why he’s dying.” Had to know why you spent years searching for him, just for this moment, just to be his end. “He has to know that it’s because he took away what you loved most in the world. He has to,” Bruce rasps. “What’s the point, otherwise?”</p><p>Those big, gloved hands lay overtop of his own.</p><p>“Dear boy, you look practically on the verge of tears.”</p><p>Bruce feels as if he’s suffocating on his own breath, suddenly aware of the stinging of his eyes and how humiliating it would be to break down right here.</p><p>“It’s just that I—I understand, you see.” Jervis’s fingers run along the back of his hands, perhaps attempting to soothe him, and Bruce fights back a shudder. “If they don’t know why, then they aren’t able to regret. There’s not enough punishment in their death if you keep them in the dark about the reason behind it.”</p><p>“Interesting hypothesis,” Jervis muses lowly, cocking his head to the side. His gaze is nothing short of piercing, too-perceptive, too-knowing. Bruce fights the urge to shy away from Jervis as if he’s a shrinking violet. “Come, sit, you look as if a stiff wind would blow you over.”</p><p>His joints are locked. He feels like the act of moving would be enough for him to fall.</p><p>“There, there.” Jervis’s fingers curl around his own to loosen his grip, and then drag down the back of his hands, his wrists, his forearms, then up, up, to cradle Bruce’s face. “You have a point, no need to cry.” His thumbs graze against Bruce’s lower lids, as if gathering teardrops onto his gloves. “Jim ought to be cognizant when it’s time for him to die.” There’s a vicious, vindictive flickering behind his eyes. “And, if I may be so bold as to add, a monster like him doesn’t deserve to be wept over by a sweet young thing such as yourself.” </p><p>“I’m sorry,” Bruce apologizes quietly, unsure of what else he can possibly say. “I can’t seem to help it.”</p><p>“Poor dear,” Jervis murmurs, face a mask of sympathy. An arm winds around Bruce’s shoulders and pulls him forward, close enough for the fabric of Jervis’s tailored jacket to brush against his cheek, close enough to smell the heady scent of his cologne. Bruce’s comparisons to his awful time being held by Jerome Valeska at the benefit flicker out of his head, because Jervis is a whole different kind of beast. One that can hold him in place without the threat of a knife. One that is older and bigger and scarier. Bruce forces himself to sink against Jervis, even though it makes his insides clench anxiously, because if Jervis is attempting to offer him comfort then he probably ought to accept it. He breathes in through his nose, out through his mouth, trying to calm himself as Jervis’s hand lifts, toying with the very ends of his hair. “It’s alright, I suppose you don’t know any better, still young and innocent enough to blindly trust authority figures like him. Alice trusted him too, you know,” he whispers mournfully, “and the only thing that came from that trust was woe. Perhaps there is still time for you to learn what she did not get a chance to.”</p><p>Jervis begins to walk, ushering Bruce backwards, until his arm finally falls away so that he can grab the back of a chair and pull it out in a show of gentlemanly behaviour. Bruce sits, hands clenching into the skirt of the dress again to keep from rubbing at his damp eyes, and out of the corner of his eye he sees Jervis removing his gloves.</p><p>“Now then.” Jervis takes an intricate silver teapot into his hands. “There’s nothing like a nice, hot cup of tea to soothe away one’s aches.” A steady stream of steaming tea is poured into the delicate teacup laid out in front of Bruce. “Do you take lemon? Milk? Sugar?”</p><p>“Milk and sugar, please.”</p><p>“Ah, sweet tea for a sweet boy,” Jervis sing-songs gently, proceeding to stir in more sugar and milk than Bruce would like, not that he’s about to correct him. “Can I get you anything else? I have scones with clotted cream and jam.”</p><p>“Just the tea is fine for now.” Bruce takes the delicate cup into his hands, trying very hard to ignore the weight of Jervis’s attention on him. He takes a sip and attempts not to let the almost cloying sweetness effect his expression. “Thank you, Jervis.”</p><p>“You are most welcome, Bruce.” Jervis settles into the seat beside him, then, and for some awful reason or another he nudges his chair closer to Bruce’s before he pours his own tea.</p><p>At the head of the table Jim continues to sit, watching with deadened eyes. Bruce bites his lip and worries what he might remember when all of this is over, whenever that may be. Where was the GCPD when you needed them? Surely they’d had enough time to find Jim and Jervis by now, considering that Bruce had done so with noticeably less manpower. </p><p>He takes another few sips of tea while Jervis ignores his own teacup, seemingly intent on watching Bruce instead. It makes him feel uneasy, but then, how is that any different from what he’d been feeling since the very start? The only differences between when he first came in and now is that he’s been invited to tea and is wearing a dress just like every girl that Jervis has assumedly kidnapped and killed. One should make him feel safer, the other should not, and perhaps they cancel each other out in order to make him feel exactly the same as before. </p><p>Jervis shifts beside him restlessly, as if he’s an over-excitable child. Bruce feels on edge just from trying to keep track of the highs and lows of his shifting emotions, let alone dealing with the rest of the situation that he’s found himself in. It’s like he’s on a rollercoaster in pitch blackness, never knowing when the next turn or drop will come, only praying that he’s prepared for it. Bruce is halfway finished with his tea by the time Jervis finally beings to sip at his, and he sets the cup down onto the saucer and tries not to fidget. </p><p>He’s not entirely sure how to make polite conversation, here, but thankfully Jervis doesn’t seem to expect him to be the one bearing the brunt of it during their impromptu tête-à-tête.</p><p>“When I kidnapped Jim and brought him here so that I could avenge my Alice and finally kill him as he deserves,” he begins with a casual air. “I did expect that people would come to save him, because some people always do. I did not, however, anticipate the likes of you.” He twists in his seat, staring at Bruce intently. Bruce wonders if it’s because he’s a civilian, or if it’s because he’s so young. “I knew, of course, that there was some kind of connection.” He doesn’t say why he bothered to learn such a thing, but Bruce can only suspect that it’s because he wanted to know everyone who Jim was close to so that he had multiple choices regarding how to hurt him in retaliation for the loss of Alice. “But it is one thing to know, and another thing to see, the lengths that you have gone to out of your misguided affection.”</p><p>Bruce feels his shoulders go tense and Jervis chuckles, laying one hand upon his closest knee as if to pacify him.</p><p>Bare skin against bare skin.</p><p>Bruce’s chest lurches.</p><p>“Oh, don’t fret too terribly, Bruce. If I had wanted to kill you I already would have done it, and if I had wanted you gone I would have hypnotized you easily.”</p><p>Bruce’s hands grip the edge of the table. He doesn’t want Jervis to see how badly they’re shaking, even though it’s probably obvious, what with how in over his head he’s been this entire time.</p><p>“Why did you invite me to tea, then? If you hadn’t—” Jim could have been dead by now. “—I’m sure that my company wouldn’t have been missed.”</p><p>Jervis turns in his seat, grabbing his teacup again.</p><p>Despite the fact that he is no longer looking at Bruce, his hand stays where it is on Bruce’s knee. </p><p>“Curiosity at first, I suppose. And perhaps a dash of being charmed by your naïve tenacity.” Bruce gets the feeling that that’s really only half of it, but his thoughts about what Jervis might not be saying are interrupted when Jervis lightly squeezes his leg and Bruce feels himself subtly jolt in response to it. “And it’s nice to speak with someone who isn’t yelling and screaming at me. My company inside of Arkham was lacking in manners, and even worse than my company outside of Arkham. The difference in companionship has been, as you so unsubtly suggested, refreshing.” </p><p>Bruce tries to form a response, but his mind grinds to a halt when Jervis’s fingers begin to skim up underneath the edge of his skirt. He instinctively brings his legs together, bashfully protective, face burning, and Jervis chuckles deeply. </p><p>“You know, I’ve never—” He pauses all of a sudden, and it takes a spilt second for Bruce to realize that it’s because somewhere in the distance is the sound of sirens.</p><p>Thank fuck.</p><p>“Rude, always cutting in on my fun,” Jervis mutters heatedly under his breath, and his fingers dig into the skin of Bruce’s thigh hard enough that Bruce worries it will leave a mark. His other hand reaches into his coat and pulls out a gun. “We haven’t even gotten to the scones yet.” He stands, and Bruce abruptly wishes he had stayed sitting instead, even if it meant that his hand kept trailing upward. A leg was just a leg. A hand was just a hand. But a gun was a gun, was the thing Bruce hated seeing most. </p><p>“Jervis.” His voice is high and tight. “Please don’t.”</p><p>Jervis casts a glance at him, pursing his lips together as if weighing his options. He doesn’t put the gun away, but he doesn’t point it in Jim’s direction. </p><p>“You told me that if I want something,” he begins slowly, “all I need is to ask.” </p><p>“Yes, I did.”</p><p>Jervis reaches onto the table and winds something up between his hands. A little egg-timer, Bruce realizes once it’s set back down on the table. It clicks rhythmically as it counts down. “When this goes off Jim will be free from my spell, and I’ll either shoot him then or be gone to some other day make his life hell. Do you want to know what it will take for me to leave?”</p><p>“Yes,” Bruce responds, nearly breathless, and Jervis grins what might have been a charming grin, if Bruce didn’t know any better.</p><p>“A kiss.”</p><p>Bruce flushes and falters, heart skipping a beat. It’s not the worst thing that Jervis could have asked for, but still, it’s not what Bruce was expecting. He was Bruce Wayne, after all, people usually wanted his money or social insurance number or for him to disappear off the face of the earth. </p><p>“I’ve—I’ve never kissed a man before,” he manages to choke out.</p><p>“And I’ve never kissed a boy, but there’s no better time than the present to figure out whether it’s worthwhile or not.” Jervis’s smile widens, uncannily playful, and Bruce stares up at him, stupefied. “Now then, this is all rather time-sensitive, Bruce, will you or won’t you, it’s an easy enough question.”</p><p>Bruce stands abruptly, chair screeching against the floor behind him.</p><p>It’s just a kiss, just a kiss. Jervis is probably only doing this to unnerve him even more, or to make fun of him. Toying with Bruce as if he really were nothing more than a doll, compelled by any and all of Jervis’s whims. Bruce has done much scarier, more unforgivable things than kissing a grown man. </p><p>He lays one hand on Jervis’s chest and rises up onto his toes—distantly noting that even then Jervis seems to have to duck his head down in order to meet him halfway—plating a firm, chaste kiss against a smirking mouth that he absolutely cannot mistake for a girl’s. He drops away after a second, fluttery and hot, gasping when Jervis seems to chase after him.</p><p>A hand glides up the back of his neck and winds into his hair. Jervis’s beard and moustache brush against him, lightly prickling, a strange new sensation that Bruce isn’t sure he’d enjoy even under different circumstances. He feels the wet of a tongue drag against his lips and his knees go weak. He feels the weight of the gun as Jervis’s other hand settles on the curve of his spine and his stomach drops to the vicinity of his socked feet. The sirens get louder, and the timer continues to tick down, and there is a distant roar of gunfire as Bruce shakily, shyly, parts his lips. Jervis hums, seemingly pleased, and his tongue briefly darts inside to drag overtop of Bruce’s.</p><p>When Jervis pulls back he has a look of enlightenment. Bruce doesn’t want to know why, but he suspects that he doesn’t have a choice in the matter. </p><p>“I’ll invite you to tea again, I think,” Jervis tells him, and his eyes become hooded, gaining that predatory gleam. Bruce can somehow still feel the heat of his bare hand against his bare leg, possessive and alarming. “And perhaps I’ll even give you something nice to drink.” He chortles for some reason, as if he’s said something funny. “It’s been a pleasure, Bruce, my little doll.” He grabs onto one of Bruce’s hands and brings it up to his mouth, brushing a kiss against his knuckles and making Bruce feel even more unsteady. He’s never had attention like this laid upon him before, and certainly not by someone so much older than him. “Don’t make yourself a stranger when I come to call.” There’s a dark threat laced into his tone, and it’s all Bruce can do to nod and promise,</p><p>“I won’t.” </p><p>Jervis straightens his back, towering before him, and tips his hat and winks as he steps away.</p><p>Bruce’s knees finally buckle fully, and he drops back into his chair. He is halfway between dazed and distressed, unsure how he got to this point where an adult man he’d only just met felt entitled to a kiss from him or would even want one from him in the first place, because it doesn’t seem to make any logical sense.</p><p>Not that there was such a thing as logical sense in Wonderland. Still, Bruce was not Alice. The Mad Hatter had known, even after having him dress up, that Bruce was not Alice, was not the one that he missed and wanted. So what did that make him, then?</p><p><i>Little doll,</i> a voice in his head seems to echo. </p><p>The timer buzzes, and Bruce is shaken out of his racing thoughts as Jim wakes up from his daze. Silence momentarily settles between them, Bruce feels himself grow hot and cold simultaneously, mortified to be seen like this.</p><p>“Bruce?” Jim’s voice is soft, as if Bruce is on the verge of a breakdown, as if it had been Bruce who was the most in danger of the two of them. “What—what happened to you?”</p><p>“I—” He thinks of the kiss, of Jervis’s hand on his leg, of Jervis calling him ‘little doll’ instead of ‘Alice’. He burns. He chokes. He can’t possibly say any of it. “—I can’t remember. I came to try and save you, and I—I don’t remember what happened.”</p><p>Jim’s eyes go gentle as he stands, making his way to Bruce’s side and quickly checking him over for any apparent injuries. The sirens are so loud, now. The gunfire has stopped. Jervis and his hired muscle must be gone. But he’d be back, someday, to invite Bruce to tea a second time.</p><p>Bruce’s hands fist into the skirt of the dress tightly.</p><p>He worries what the next tea party will bring.</p>
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